


Caged

by urbanmagician



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urbanmagician/pseuds/urbanmagician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Escaping Loki's control was all Hawkeye wanted, but what is he going to do with his newly acquired freedom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caged

  
The makeshift shelter, currently serving both as an operations base and a research laboratory, was lit with sickeningly lifeless fluorescent lights. There was some bustle at the back, as more men were bringing in crates with supplies and ammunition. Loki ignored them sitting in the middle of the low room, watching idly as Selvig tinkered with the computers that surrounded the Tesseract like a wall.

"Report," Loki said, not turning his head, as Hawkeye entered the room behind the men.  
Clint’s mouth opened, and words came out, without stumbling or hesitation, as if they were supposed to.  
"Fifteen more men are ready to serve."  
It never failed to surprise him, the processes that went on without his intervention. It was tempting to just sit back and watch, to give up, but he only allowed himself moments of respite before tenaciously trying to regain control of himself, gnawing at the invisible, intangible barrier, wordlessly screaming promises of retribution at the impostor in his mind, at the chilling splinter in his chest that was the last thing he really felt, at the monster that was sitting there, commanding him. There was no indication that his struggle was even noticed, but if he stopped, he'd lose the rest of his sanity. Being a mute guest in one's own body was far too frightening.

"Good," Loki said, smiling to himself. "And your former friends from... S.H.I.E.L.D, was it? Where are they now?"  
"Regrouping," Clint replied, immediately. "And doing some recruitment of their own."  
He felt exhausted from the effort of trying to control his mouth, but there was no sweat, no fatigue. Even the effort was all in his mind.  
"Regrouping where?" Loki asked.  
"S.H.I.E.L.D has a base, mobile headquarters really..." Inside, he screamed with rage, throwing himself at the barrier that was probably merely his own imagination providing him with a tangible representation of this foul magic, but outside, he merely wet his lips before proceeding, "...they call it the Helicarrier. A flying aircraft carrier."  
"I see." Loki stood up, twirling the spear in his hand.  
"Leave us," he told the others, and they obeyed, leaving him alone with the motionless Hawkeye by his side and the soft humming of the electronic equipment. Selvig stared at a screen intently, quite oblivious to all but his task.

"Tell me everything about the Helicarrier," he told the human.  
"I don't know much of it." Clint admitted, but that was not evasion, as much as he would've liked to. It was a fact. "Tony Stark contributed to the prototype, and Stark Industries built it, I think. It can camouflage." He shrugged. "All of the main S.H.I.E.L.D facilities and employees would be there."  
"Interesting. It appears your friends don't tell you all that much, do they? Your one-eyed commander doesn't trust his little pet archer with the details? But that's alright. You can still be useful." Loki came to stand in front of him and touched his chest with the point of his spear. It flickered as he tapped into the web that held Clint’s mind, rummaging through his memories.  
He's told what he needs to know, Barton thought, that's how a spy operates. If he is caught, he shouldn't be able to spill it all. Like now. His body never moved, but his mind tried to recoil, escape the intrusion. It was futile, as always. He was powerless, trapped, suffocated by a presence that mimicked him with frightening accuracy but did everything he could do for the entirely wrong reasons. He could feel, inexplicably, the man... no, the creature, looking into every hidden corner of his being, mercilessly turning every stone until nothing belonged to him anymore. Not his childhood, not the circus, not the criminal days, not Tony dragging him to S.H.I.E.L.D, not Natasha. If he was in control of his body he might have curled up into a fetal position and sobbed, so for once, he was happy he wasn't.

"Ah," Loki said, finally taking away the spear. "I was right. You do have a heart. Not a particularly desired quality in an assassin, don't you think?"  
He walked around the human, who remained motionless. "That little woman... Do you think she'll try to rescue you, or kill you? Which one do you think you deserve?"  
Ah, Clint thought, a little hysterically, but that's not fair. What's the point of playing these games, if the opponent is bound and shackled, only able to tell his master the square truth? Is it even fun like that? And he realized that it probably is. The creature doesn't need to play a game and win to have fun, the enjoyment of being so far above that the opponent doesn't even get to play is quite enough. And he is that far above. Never before this captivity had Barton felt so merely, regularly human. They never stood a chance.

"She's hard to predict." He said, thankfully not adding 'that's one of the reasons I lo... like her so much.' But Loki already knew anyway, didn't he?  
"But she'll probably try to rescue me. She should kill me instead, though."  
"I am the god of lies, did you know that?" Loki said conversationally. "And love, my little archer, is the greatest lie of all. I might teach you that lesson yet before you die. Kneel."  
Was that an acknowledgment of his thoughts? If so, that was frightening and liberating at the same time. Frightening, because it retroactively diminished his already barely existent privacy to nothing. Liberating, because he was not, apparently, mute. At least, now the creature would know the god of what exactly he considered him to be. But he knelt, of course. Resistance was still futile, even though he still tried to, almost out of habit. And in case Loki ever releases him without a warning, to see whether he automatically continues obeying. But he knelt, staring forward with those newly dead eyes that scared him so much when he spotted his own reflection.

Loki leaned over him and stroked his cheek, running his finger along his jaw line.  
"They will all kneel before me," he said, with a touch of manic glee. "All those who mocked me, those who opposed me, those who underestimated me. I will bring a new age to this wretched realm, an age of glory that would rival Asgard itself."  
His long fingers tightened on Clint’s neck.  
"Serve me well, and perhaps I will let you see it."  
He brought Hawkeye's head to his crotch in a rough motion. "Do it."

There were a few moments of confusion when Barton, absorbed in the implications of the little speech, tried to figure out - do what? But the impostor in him was not that naive. He watched his deft fingers undo the alien clothing without any fumbling. Towering god or not, the creature was still built like any other male. And apparently cared for the same things. With increasing horror, he felt himself move forward, take the offered cock onto his tongue. Jesus Christ, was Selvig still there?

Clint would've liked to choke, but he couldn't. Somehow, his body not only was out of his control, it also knew exactly what to do. And as with all other orders, it was eager to please. Through the terrified, loathing fog in his mind, he suddenly realized he is aroused. It shouldn't have been a surprise - he could feel the implications of his unwilling actions before - the strain, the pain, the adrenaline, why not that? Perhaps because strain, pain and adrenaline were normal, while enjoying sucking off a man, one he hated, one who forced him to... that was definitely new.

He struggled again, harder than ever, but he couldn't stop the eager working of his mouth, or the stirring in his crotch, just as he couldn't stop pulling the trigger on a comrade. But why did he keep thinking of it as "his"? It wasn't his body, not anymore. He didn’t even shut his eyes in shame when Loki spent into his mouth.  
Selvig was still there, working on the Tesseract studiously, though he must have seen and heard everything.

"I wonder what your wench will say when she hears everything you've done for me," Loki said mockingly, wiping the last drops of his seed from the human's lips with his thumb.  
Clint actually leaned into Loki's hand, heart racing, skin sensitive, genitals throbbing. It was hell on earth. And when his tormentor spoke, he was actually grateful for that. The flash of anger distracted him. The monster had no right to speak of her this way, but she'll know better than be disappointed in him, he was certain of that. And she wasn't even his. He knew that he most probably won't survive long enough for her to ever be, but he didn't really regret any of his choices. Given the opportunity, he'd do everything the same way again, and so most probably would she. Both of them found their fragile trust and camaraderie far too valuable to endanger. But the anger held him together through the humiliation, reminded him who the enemy was - not himself, but the so-called god. He must keep it together, to seize the chance if it comes.  
"Go," Loki ordered, rearranging his clothes and losing interest in playing with his slave for now. "You still have much for to do."

And he did have much to do. The next few days were a kaleidoscope of nightmares, toward the end of which Hawkeye has grown numb, distracted, and unseeing, despite all of his resolve to keep fighting. And then he came to, hurting all over, but it was real pain, and Natasha was standing over him. Then he knew, everything was going to be alright.

It wasn't, not really. He was thrust right back into the fray, while having to readjust to having control over himself. While having to pretend everything, including him, was just the way it was before. Oh, he was glad of having to fight - he enjoyed the opportunity of getting back at his tormentor, even if not personally yet, and he enjoyed every moment of controlling his body again. Physically, he was indeed cured, and felt just the way he did before. But the memory of the horror was imprinted on the back of his mind. He was constantly afraid to find himself helpless again, and tortured by the knowledge of all of the things he did during his captivity.

Then it was all over. They survived, held back an army, prevented what could be the end of mankind, and yet he still did not feel better. He was grateful, of course, and proud, but he wasn’t satisfied. At the end, he couldn't really get back at Loki, not as personally as the creature made it all for him. Loki was to be under Thor's custody, and that seemed incredibly unfair. Clint wouldn't argue, of course, his petty obsession with revenge was not a good thing; and, well, it wasn't even characteristic for him. Natasha insisted it wasn't his fault, but he changed. He knew it all left an imprint on him. They were back on the Helicarrier for now, and he knew where Loki was kept. That in itself was a change. Clint now took care to know more than he was told. Perhaps he deserves one last conversation, as one monster to another.

Loki was kept in a transparent cell, much like the one he occupied before, only this time he wore a gag which looked more like a muzzle, and his hands were bound and chained to the narrow bench. His face was bruised.  
Clint stopped in front of the transparent wall. The sight of Loki bound, gagged, blemished, was mesmerizing. His pulse was speeding up, his palms growing damp, and something suspiciously akin to arousal was tightening in his crotch. That was not the way one was supposed to feel when facing a hated enemy. He had to stay focused though. The creature was bound to sense any weakness or confusion.

Clint opened the door, and took a few steps forward. The bonds were supposed to secure Loki in place. If they didn't, well, it was Thor's fault - and problem. He wasn't currently concerned with any danger to himself.  
Loki looked up at him, remaining seated. His garments were dirty and torn at places, but otherwise the god looked much better than when he crawled out of the concrete of Stark's penthouse floor. Gods healed fast, after all. He didn't looked frightened by his visitor, either.

Why should he be frightened, really, Barton thought. Loki was a god. He could play with toys as much as he wanted, and if he broke any or was mean to other kids, he'll just be scolded, dragged back home, and made to stand in the corner. Nauseating hatred welled up in his guts again, as he remembered being a mute slave, the way Loki used him, the way he gloated.  
His hand shot out, grabbing the narrow jaw under the gag. Loki was so much taller, he didn't have to lean down for that. Yet his long neck was so slender just below Barton's fingers, so white. His glare was shaded by long, black eyelashes. Clint swallowed, remembering sucking him off. Too bad he wouldn't remove the gag, or he'd make him return that favor.

Loki didn't make a move to resist. He shot a glance down, to Hawkeye's crotch, then looked in his eyes again, mockingly. He could see the human was aroused, and this time, no one was forcing him, or planting images in his mind, or whispering poisonous words into his ear.  
"Oh," Barton said, gritting his teeth. "You enjoy this too, don't you?"  
He left Loki's jaw, grabbing his hair instead. That long, glowing hair, he realized he wanted to bunch his fingers in it for quite some time. And then he pulled forward, bringing his face closer, until they touched cheek to cheek. Loki's skin was cold and smooth, except for those scraped places, that were rough and hot.

"Are you used to this, maybe, kneeling before others? That was what it was all about, I remember, about getting back at those who mocked you." Clint’s free hand traveled down and along the god's body, fingers finding the places to open all on their own accord.  
The muzzle didn't let him make a sound, so Loki was silent. He let Hawkeye touch him, though he probably could have stopped him if he really wanted.

Clint had no idea what he was doing. That is, he had no real plan upon coming here, but reaching for Loki's cock wasn't something he expected himself to do, regardless. He just wanted to make him squirm, he supposed. He wanted to feel power over him, in return.  
Loki pulled away slightly, looking up into the human's eyes intently, then lifted his eyebrows as if in a mocking invitation. The chains didn't allow for much range, but he lifted his bound hands regardless, just barely touching Barton's cheek.

This is not lovemaking, for god's sake, Barton almost said, as he remembered the way he leaned into Loki's hand. But wasn't it? Was it really revenge he wanted, or did he just want to fuck Loki ever since? It was a mistake, coming here. He was still way out of his league, and even without magic, the creature was messing with his mind. He should have either left him alone, or killed him. But it was too late now.

He slapped the hands away, as if he didn't crave their caress, and pushed Loki down onto the bench, immediately climbing on top. That was just the thing to do behind transparent glass, he thought, but... fuck. Fuck.  
With one swift and fluid motion, Loki rolled over, pushing Barton over the edge, so the man landed on his back on the floor. He straddled him, his hands in an awkward angle above and to the side of his head. He leaned over Clint, looking at him with those clear, burning eyes, and brought the metal gag to his lips in a twisted parody of a kiss.

And at that moment, Hawkeye was once again sorry about the gag. He'd kiss Loki. Oh, he'd kiss the hell out of him. He was dizzy with desire by now, and he clawed at their clothes, desperately getting rid of whatever remained a barrier between their lower halves. And it was all stupid of him, ridiculously, terribly stupid. He was played, he knew that. The man... the creature could clearly defend himself if he chose to, and he completely lowered his guard. But Clint couldn't control himself, and this time, not because he was under a spell. It was the simple, human weakness of thinking with one's cock.

There weren't any preparations, nor time adjust - one moment they were both finally exposed, and the next Loki was riding him, rolling his hips in sharp thrusting motions. The fact that he made absolutely no sound, not even a moan or a sigh, made it a little surreal, as if someone suddenly pressed the mute button on reality.

And then Barton was the one doing all the moaning. He simply couldn't help himself - it was too good. Even the realization that he did, apparently, want this all along, and the resulting scalding shame, did nothing to lessen the pleasure. He supposed that at the moment, he didn't really care. He held on to Loki's narrow hips, fingers digging in, his back arching, his lips parting in a snarl. It was still not lovemaking, but he had no idea what it was it. He never wanted anyone quite this way.

If someone was watching what they were doing on cameras, they did nothing to stop it. There were only the sounds of Barton's moans, and snatches of words that he stopped himself from saying, and the sounds of their bodies slapping against each other in a punishing rhythm. Loki was looking away, his eyes darkened and distant.  
"No," Clint grunted, hoarsely, "look at me."  
His hands were traveling along Loki's flanks, stroking roughly wherever he could reach through the alien clothing.  
"You, see me when you fuck me." He could hear the memory of Loki's voice in his head, that said 'God of lies', and, 'Love is the greatest lie of all.'  
Loki gazed down at him, looking over his face, not with hatred, but with the curiosity of a lepidopterist pinning a strange new butterfly onto the board of his collection. His legs and knees held Bartons's body in an iron grip, never letting go.

That fucking hurt. Not the grip, though that was bound to cause bruises, but the fact that Loki still didn't see Clint as a person was painful as fuck. He wasn't sure what he expected, really - didn't Loki actually say how he sees humans, and didn't he prove it by actions as well? Why would have anything changed, or why should he be special? And the additional, even more confusing question - why did he care? Why did he want more? There was no lie here, even, because he wasn't promised or suggested anything but what he got. Still, he was irrationally obsessed, and upon seeing that this somehow turned into sex, he apparently hoped... no, not that it was mutual, but there were any feelings, any attraction in return.

Clint hissed out a frustrated breath, bucking underneath Loki, almost at the peak, slipping a hand lower to grip his cock. By god, he wouldn't have minded sucking it again. He wouldn't have minded being back there in the warehouse, on his knees, getting off on his throat being full of it, completely in Loki's control. It was a horrible realization. Perhaps he was indeed meant to be ruled and then disposed of. He tightened his grip, staring right back into those eyes, snarling.

The chains clinked as Loki gripped them, coming dangerously close to yanking them off. His eyelids fluttered and closed, shutting him off from Barton again, as he bore down one last time, hard, almost painfully, his body tensing in a silent release.  
Clint moaned, and swore, and moaned again, coming into him, fingers raking Loki’s body as if it'd change anything if he only held him tight enough, thrust deep enough. As if he'd stay. He was sorry he couldn't invade his mind, burrow inside him with more than his body. He was sorry he no longer feels whole without the presence in his own. That it feels lonely there. Hot tears streamed out of the corners of his eyes and flowed down his temples as he kept coming, in spasms. Loki would probably laugh at the weakness. Well, fuck him.

Loki opened his eyes, looking down at Hawkeye again. His nostrils were flaring as he was breathing hard. His thighs still held the man in a vise. Their eyes locked for a long moment, while they were both just breathing. The cell felt eerily quiet again. The god's expression was unreadable. There was no malice, no gloating, no tenderness, no scientific interest. His gaze just seemed to reach inside him and strip his soul bare without any magic.

Barton stared back, vision swimming with the tears until he blinked them out. He didn't try to get away from the gaze, or the grip, he just lay there, panting, letting him into his mind and soul and somehow holding onto him there, just as he was let into the body, and then held. He didn't want to move. Possibly ever. Let everyone watch, if that's what they wanted.  
Moments passed in strange intimacy, so far from both the tenderness of lovers and the struggle of enemies. Finally Loki stood up, releasing Barton altogether. The long tails of his garment fell about his legs, hiding his exposed flesh, though he didn't move immediately to adjust his pants.

Clint licked his lips and swallowed, very aware of the bobbing of his Adam's apple under Loki's mute gaze. He now had even less idea of what happened between them, but trying to understand a god was probably useless. Even if that god tended to make the impression of a cruel jealous child. He closed his pants, then got up, swaying a little on unsteady legs. Seconds ticked by. He should have beat it, but he couldn't tear himself away from there. He'll probably never see Loki again, and that would be for the best.

Loki lifted his hands. Barton was standing just a little too far now for him to reach, but he motioned the human to come closer.  
Go away, he told himself, go away, but instead he stepped closer, completely out of his free will, but still drawn like a moth to a flame. He wanted to hug him. By god, he wanted to wrap his arms the inhuman creature who made him harm and possibly kill innocent people. Who used and tormented him. He was beyond fucked up.

Loki's fingertips were cool as ice against his flushed cheek. Then Loki pressed one finger to his lips, as if planting his seal on them. His eyes narrowed, mocking and cruel, and he shoved Barton in the chest lightly, stepping away.  
He stumbled back, following the push, then stopped, grinning like a madman. His cheek and lips burnt with cold where Loki touched them.  
"You know me throughout by now," Clint said, voice still hoarse, "so you must know that if we meet again, I'll do my best to kill you. And I never miss."  
He took a few more steps back, still staring at the loathed, beloved face. He wasn't smiling anymore. "So don't you ever appear on Earth again."  
He turned, and walked out of the cell, shutting the transparent door as if it mattered.  



End file.
